


penalty minutes

by ghosthunter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Spanking, polyam russians, punishment for taking stupid stick penalties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 03:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17890601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: Braden likes paddles, personally. Plain paddles, floggers meant for spanking. His favorite is a modified goalie paddle made from a vintage stick, solid wood and familiar to swing. It’s his favorite and he keeps it close.





	penalty minutes

**Author's Note:**

> look we all keep saying that the boys need to bend it over for braden after hanging him out to dry, so hey, here we go. sometimes i just write spanking so i can write aftercare. shrug.
> 
> thanks to jarka for beta. :*

People will blame a lot of things that happen in hockey games on a lot of different things. Goals mostly get blamed on goalies.

Braden will admit that some goals are his fault. Some goals he feels he should have stopped, some moments he’d like to have back. Sometimes there’s just a bad bounce, or a rebound - or, God forbid - an own goal. Some nights, his team just hangs him out to dry and there’s little he can do about it. Constant penalties, where the team is playing a man down, bad bounces and bad goals and losses.

When it’s penalties, when it’s own goals, at least Braden has recourse.

Braden likes paddles, personally. Plain paddles, floggers meant for spanking. His favorite is a modified goalie paddle made from a vintage stick, solid wood and familiar to swing. It’s his favorite and he keeps it close.

They’ve lost, and lost badly, so his favorite paddle is not for the offing tonight. Tonight he needs something lighter, something he has much less effort to swing. He’s tired.

The room is quiet. The room is quiet and everyone is pissed off, exhausted, upset. They played like shit, and they all know it. When Braden walks out of the showers, it’s still quiet, the team in various states of undress.

Michal is kneeling on the floor in front of Braden’s stall.

“Just you?” Braden asks, his voice flipping up at the end because yes, Michal took stupid penalties and was responsible for power play goals, but he’s not the only one.

“Kuzy still in the showers,” Michal says, his head bowed, his voice soft. Good, Braden thinks, because whether it’s conscious or not, Michal and Evgeny seem to be having a competition for which of them can take the most stupid penalties in a season.

No one is spared the paddle after losses, not on nights like this.

“Wait,” Braden says to Michal, who nods, his hair curling damp around his face. He hasn’t showered, is kneeling there in his jock, waiting patiently to receive the punishment he’s earned for his penalties.

Evgeny comes back, showered, his towel wrapped around his waist. Braden looks at him, thinking. Part of him wants to put Evgeny on his knees and take Michal first and make Evgeny wait, since that’s what Evgeny’s just done to Michal. But Evgeny has seniority, and can do that, if he wants.

“Michal,” Braden says, resting his hand on top of Michal’s sweaty hair. “Please move out of the way. Stay kneeling.”

Evgeny steps into place in front of Braden’s stall, reaching up and taking hold of the shelf inside of Braden’s stall. The rule is ten strokes for each penalty minute, at Braden’s discretion if he feels they’re particularly egregious. It’s not every night that they take punishment, just bad losses, with stupid penalties.

There have been nights where Braden feels like he’s spent hours paddling guys. He takes the wooden paddle, hefts it in his hand, and delivers the first five sharp smacks to Evgeny’s naked ass. He hears the sharp gasp of breath after the first smack, and stops after the fifth,watching Evgeny shift his feet.

“You’re okay?” Braden asks.

“Yeah,” Evgeny says. His eyes are closed, his head hung down between his shoulders.

“I’m going to give you the rest all at once,” Braden says. “Yell if you need me to stop.”

It’s the same rules. Evgeny has four penalty minutes. Forty swats, thirty-five more after the initial five. Evgeny doesn’t ask him to stop, just takes it until his ass is cherry red from the paddle.

“O?” Braden asks, and Alex sweeps in, murmuring softly in Russian and gently prying Evgeny’s fingers from where they’re white-knuckled and gripping the shelf of Braden’s locker. Braden likes that when he has to punish more than one teammate, there’s always someone there prepared to perform aftercare for each of them..

Braden waits until Alex has Evgeny knelt down, leaned forward with his head pillowed on a sweatshirt at his stall, Alex’s hands making short work of massaging lotion into Evgeny’s raw backside. Braden watches for a moment, until Dmitry comes to sit on the floor next to Alex and Evgeny and scoots in close to Evgeny, leaning his face down to rest on Evgeny’s shoulder.

He’s whispering to Evgeny in Russian, Braden knows. They’ll take the best care of Evgeny while he comes down, with Dmitry whispering to him and scratching his fingernails over the short hair on Evgeny’s scalp. They’ll rub him down, take him home, put him to bed, get him off if he wants. It’s good.

Michal is still knelt, waiting, to the side of Braden’s locker.

“Miki,” he says. And Michal’s head snaps up, and his eyes meet Braden’s. “Stand up, hold onto the shelf.”

Michal gets to his feet, his back to Braden. Wearing nothing but his jock, his ass is bare to the room. He sets his feet shoulder width apart, leans forward and places his hand on the shelf.

“You had six penalty minutes,” Braden says, stepping in close and speaking into Michal’s ear. He watches as Michal closes his eyes, swallows hard. “That’s sixty swats.”

“Yes,” Michal says.

“Are you going to take all 60 or are you going to need a break?” Braden asks him.

“Take all 60,” Michal says.

“Good,” Braden says, and steps back, taking a deep breath. He hefts his paddle in his hand, then gives Michal the same five starting strikes he gave Evgeny. He watches Michal’s body go involuntarily taut after the first blow, then relax back into it by the fifth.

The locker room is mostly quiet, just the Russians left as the ritual drags out. Braden can hear his own breathing easily, steady, a little faster than normal. Excited. And he can hear Michal’s, a little more ragged.

“Are you ready?” Braden asks. Michal nods. “Out loud.”

“Ready,” Michal says, his accent thick.

“Tell me to stop if you need to,” Braden says.

“Okay,” Michal says.

Around the fortieth, forty-fifth strike, Braden can see Michal’s body start to shake, fine trembling through his arms, down to his legs. “Do you want a break?”

“Finish,” Michal says, and then another word that Braden knows is ‘please,’ but in Czech.

Braden does as he’s asked, delivering the final few strikes quickly, and drops his paddle to the floor to lean in close and let Michal collapse into his arms instead of trying to lower himself down. This way, Braden can gather Michal into his arms, cradle him gently, pull Michal in against his chest and stroke his fingers through Michal’s hair.

Michal still needs a shower, and Braden will have to rub lotion into the raw skin of Michal’s ass. For now, Michal sits with Braden, his body twisted in Braden’s lap, his breath shaking. If he’s crying, Braden’s not going to say anything.

They sit for a while, long enough that the Russians have gathered up and gone home, Evgeny dressed and balanced between Alex and Dmitry as they leave.

“Come on,” Braden says, pushing Michal gently off his lap and getting to his feet, before pulling Michal up as well. “Showers.”

He strips Michal out of his jock and leaves his own shorts on the bench of his stall. He hooks an arm around Michal’s waist and guides him back to the showers. Braden turns on the water and tests the spray before standing Michal underneath it.

His hands are slow, soaping up Michal’s skin, making him gasp as Braden’s hands glide over the raw, reddened skin of Michal’s ass. It’s a move that makes Michal lean into him, makes him search out Braden’s mouth with his.

Braden wraps one soap-sick hand around Michal’s cock to jerk him off, letting Michal lean his head down and breathe hard against Braden’s shoulder. When he comes, it’s easy to just wash it all down the drain.

Since everyone else has gone home, Braden guides Michal into one of the side rooms, stretches him out on a massage table to massage lotion into his backside.

“I know you don’t take penalties on purpose,” Braden tells him, his voice quiet and steady. “But I think you like the punishment.”

Michal makes a non-committal noise, his eyes closed and his cheek pressed against a towel. Braden finishes rubbing in the lotion and wipes his hands off on a towel before running his fingers through Michal’s damp hair.

“Do you want to come home with me?” Braden asks.

“If you don’t mind,” Michal says.

“Of course not,” Braden says.

Michal slides off the table to go and get dressed, and Braden follows him after a moment, making sure to clean up after them. He’d hate for the trainers to get pissed at them. While Michal is dressing, Braden dresses himself, then tucks the paddle away for the next time he needs it.

They walk out together, and Michal rides home in Braden’s back seat. He considers driving, but after an attempt to sit in the driver’s seat of his car, he decides against it and lets Braden drive him.

Braden winds down with a glass of wine, propped up against the headboard of his bed, the tv on. Michal falls asleep with his head on Braden’s chest, Braden’s free hand in his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> planning something terrible on twitter @notedgoon


End file.
